


Trains to Paradise

by MischiefMakerMaiden



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:14:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischiefMakerMaiden/pseuds/MischiefMakerMaiden
Summary: Bruce Wayne’s first day off brings along the end of the world. A zombie apocalypse comes and destroys everything he’s ever tried to build in his city; now, months later, he must seek safety and protect his companions, finding hope in strange places and friendships where he least expects them.





	1. The Birth of The End

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an universe in which Barbara Gordon is Oracle (and therefore disabled), Bruce is on friendly terms with Selina Kyle (AKA Catwoman) but is not sleeping with her regularly, and all the children get relatively well along. 
> 
> Also, for the sake of the plot, much like the Walking Dead this will be set in an universe in which the idea of Zombies isn’t widely marketed or even anything that was ever thought up. 
> 
> UPDATE 2/24/2019
> 
> After much internal debate, I decided to edit and revamp the story. Tons of elements from the original are still present, but the story will take on an entirely new direction. For now, enjoy the only slightly altered first chapter (it will be the one that most resembles the original). 
> 
> An edited version of the rest of the chapters will soon follow!

Bruce awoke all at once— had that been… a sound?

 

The rustle came again, just as quiet as the one before. Still, it was enough for him to shake himself awake (despite the stiffness of having slept in his armor) and begin the process of assessing the room about him.

The ground, as before, was covered thickly with Batarangs stuck sharply into the concrete floor. There was enough of these that anyone who entered the warehouse would have a hard time getting to his elevated position, be they dead or alive.  

The shuffling sound came once more, and this time Bruce was awake enough to locate its source.

Without hesitation, he took to his feet and pulled out his grappling gun, aiming it at a beam just above the sound’s location

It fired loudly, but that did not matter. By the time this was of any relevance, he was above the sound, his hand going to one of his many pouches for something – anything – that might be of use in keeping this area safe.

He looked down, fully expecting to see a Biter among the shadows.

What he saw instead was strangely startling—he relaxed where he crouched, allowing his hand to fall away from its defensive position.

 

It was a small bunny.

It had white fur— this struck him because it was probably the cleanest, purest thing he had seen in… months, now, he supposed. Its eyes look up at him, now having had enough time to react to the loud sound his grappling gun had made.

The sight of it made Bruce feel strangely homesick. Even while he wasn’t too far from Gotham, this feeling struck him in a more primal way. He realized he was not missing the location, but rather the feelings of normalcy that his home had once evoked.

In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to grapple down and collect the creature into a gauntleted arm. Strangely, it did not flinch away from him, but rather cuddled up to the cold armor, its black nose twitching as it settled down.

Bruce carefully grappled up once again, aiming his gun towards the perch on which he had been sleeping. It had once been a wide catwalk, but now it contained two blood-stained cots, a deep plunge where the stairs going up to it had once been (before Bruce had knocked them down for safety reasons), and a cooler full of whatever food items Bruce had managed to scavenge.

It wasn’t much, but they were only passing through. It would be time to move on soon. Traveling west, especially in this wintry weather, had been a difficult task while trying to fight off the many Biters which had resided in these crowded locations. For a while, the creatures had lingered in the big cities, but soon, having run out of men and women to terrorize and consume, they had spread out around the outskirts of towns and cities looking for those who, like Bruce, had begun their trek to safer areas.

Once his feet had hit the ground with the clank of armored boots on metal, Bruce walked up to his vacated cot and sat down heavily. The bunny still did not react to being moved.

How strange, that it had managed to survive this long by itself.

 

With his free hand, Bruce reached out to the cooler and rummaged about until he was able to locate some berries he had collected a few days ago. Once he was able to pull them out, he offered them to the creature, who readily accepted them.

“You wouldn’t believe who came in this morning,” he spoke aloud in a rusty voice. It sounded as exhausted as he felt, and it was heavy with disuse. It has with this sound that the bunny finally startled, though the food Bruce kept offering it kept it from sprinting away from Bruce’s careful embrace. “It’s a bunny—funny, right? You might have tried to eat it, but… well…” He quieted, unsure as to why he had even begun talking.

Next to him, the gaunt body of the Joker kept on inhaling and exhaling shallowly. The clown clung on to life even as the world around them fell apart.

Still, he had been sick for a very long time, now. When would he wake up? Would he ever? Bruce, ever the realist, had begun to lose hope some weeks ago, but still had a hard time telling himself to leave the Joker behind. This was partly because the clown was one of the last remnants of his past life, and partly because the Biter virus had affected him differently.

Joker was not turning—he had instead entered a strange trance-like state that kept him asleep and unaware yet still alive.

The clown still necessitated sustenance and water, and, upon occasion, Bruce would have to clean him after he soiled himself (though this was rare, as though his body processed everything so differently that it needed only rid itself of waste once every couple of weeks.) Could he be the key to the cure? Could there be a cure, when the final stage of the turning effectively killed the host?

The bunny, now sated, pulled away from Bruce, wandering around the isolated catwalk carefully. It pulled up close to the Joker, sniffing at him, wrinkling its nose, then moving away.

Bruce watched all this through the weak light of a winter morning, noticing for the first time since awaking that it was very cold in the warehouse. He had been too distracted by thoughts of intruders to notice before, but now that it struck him, he could not push the feeling away.

He pulled his cot even closer to the Joker’s, taking his own tattered blanket and laying it over the both of them, making sure there was enough body heat to keep the clown from freezing.

From there, Bruce did not sleep, allowing himself to zone out instead.

He was too weary to rest or remember, but he instead worried silently about the day before him and what, if anything, he would need to do to keep himself going west, towards the mystical Paradise that gave him some meager hope.

 

* * *

**Five Months Ago**

 

Bruce had watched his city collapse while perched upon the very roofs from which he had sworn to protect it. He did not, however, know he was watching the erosion of everything he knew until it was much too late.

By morning, it was all gone.

But for now… for now he watched and waited, hunting not for what would, in the end, kill them all, but instead for the darkness which had been haunting his Gotham well before his childhood.

It was nothing but the same old patrol and the same old small-time criminals. He expected a peppering of large heists, of course he did, but this night was, so far, a peaceful one.

He assumed that the chill of a long winter had something to do with it. It was February now, and the usual Christmas-time trouble was long behind him. The bitter, angry cold of January was past, too, but now was the time when exhaustion seeped into everyone’s bones and the desire for warmth was oftentimes greater than the desire for trouble.

And so, everyone but the bravest stayed home, of course they did. And Bruce… he watched over these empty streets and wondered when it would be his turn to rest.

“ _Nightwing to Batman, Nightwing to Batman,_ ” came Dick’s voice over the comm. It was playful and childish— two qualities which Bruce did not get to hear in his son’s voice very often. He played along, if only to hear a couple friendly comments before he was forced to swoop down and save the lives of whoever needed him.

“Yes, Nightwing?” His voice did not necessarily betray approval of whatever game Dick planned to play, but it was not hostile, either. By now, Dick knew that that was all the permission he needed.

“ _We seem to have a slight leak in the Batcave. Toilets overflowing and all. Truly an emergency, B. Alfred and I will need your help. We’ve even called in some backup! Just so happens that a little Robin’s in town. The Reds, too…_ ” his voice trailed off, as though he’d turned away from the comm. A bit faded but still clear: “ _What do you mean that’s the stupidest excuse ever? Oh yeah? Huh well at least I know cakes need baking soda to rise_ …” the voice then resumed its original volume, and Bruce assumed that Dick was done getting chewed out by Damian. “ _Hurry on over! The toilets—_ ”

“Nightwing, you know I can’t—”

“ _Leave your city unsupervised, handsome?_ ” A new voice over the comm. It was silky and seductive, and Bruce knew, at once, that it was Selina. “ _Don’t you worry about that. Catwoman reporting in for duty._ ”

Bruce is too amazed to retort. Had his boys really asked Selina to…?

Then, another voice. This time it was Barbara’s. “ _Oracle here, too, B. Go fix that leak, will you? I’ll watch the kitty like a hawk_.”

“I…”

“ _Hurry! The toilets won’t last much longer…_ ” Dick exclaimed before Bruce could shoot them all down. He should say thanks, but no thanks. He should tell them he’s got a responsibility he cannot walk away from, not even tonight.

But…

“Thank you, Catwoman, Oracle. I’m on my way, Nightwing,” is all the eventually settled on.

Just this once, he went.

 

* * *

 

When he arrived at the Cave there was no one around. Not in the training area or by the Batcomputer or the garage. He did spot Jason’s bike though, a sure sign that the boy was around.

So he took off the armor like shedding old skin, peeling off the Kevlar and wiping away at the sweat that had gathered in every crevice of his body. He even took a quick shower before putting on gray sweatpants and a thin cotton shirt that stretched over his shoulders.

By the end of the fifteen-minute routine, he somehow felt more relaxed than he had in a very long time.

Still, that didn’t mean that he’d stop being vigilant. He placed a comm in his ear and secured it in place before walking to the elevator and heading up, up, up into the manor.

It was pitch black in the parlor when he exited the cave. A peek out the door and a small leap of logic took him to the assumption that the rest of the house would be just as dark.

He padded on bare feet towards the kitchen, not necessarily alarmed but still weary, despite knowing what all this was.

Through the darkness he saw nothing, not up until the spied the dim glow of candles atop the kitchen counter. They lit up a cake— one which Bruce, even from afar, could tell was beautiful.

The second his toes passed the threshold of the room, the lights came on and his four boys and Alfred popped out from behind the counter. They all wore colorful party hats and there were streamers and balloons everywhere and:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Dick was the first to bound over to Bruce, arms wide as he came in for a hug. Bruce allowed it, just this once, and was amazed by its warmth and its love.

After pulling away, his protege wrapped one lean arm around Bruce’s shoulder and gestured with animation at the decoration, at Tim, who was smiling wide, at Damian, who was scowling and had, by now, come to sit on a stool (he still wore the party hat, though), at Alfred, who stood a respectful distance away from Bruce, and at Jason, who was holding a half-eaten sandwich and had a face like he wanted to tease Tim about something or the other.

Family. His family.

“...and we thought you’d enjoy the day off, B. Do you like it? You definitely deserve it.”

Bruce turned his head and looked into those hopeful, bright eyes. They had seen so much pain in their life, and still they shone with gentle love.

“I love it, Dick.”

“Would you like some cake, master Bruce? It is your favorite, of course.”

“I’d love to try some, Alfred,” he conceded, moving away from Dick and towards said cake. As he approached, he came close enough to Damian to pat his head. The boy shook him off, as he always did, but Bruce could tell he appreciated the affection.

Over his comm he heard Catwoman say: “ _Oracle, something’s up in the factory by the edge of Old Gotham. I hear some screams. I’m going to investigate._ ”

“ _Gotcha. I’ll check the video feed to see what’s up. Be careful._ ” Replied Barbara in his ear, and he instantly grew tense even in the warmth of his kitchen.

He should go investigate and help Selina out—

A hand on his shoulder. Alfred’s.

“Young Master Wayne and Master Todd worked together to make this pastry. They worked very hard. Master Drake had a hand in the room’s decoration.” A knowing look. “Enjoy it, Master Bruce, they worked very hard to have you relax on your birthday.”

Bruce nodded and forced a smile and did not let the worry gnawing at him show on his face.

“Father, try the bottommost layer.” Damian. Bruce smiled at him, knowing it was probably this layer that the youth had worked on.

He grabbed a knife and a plate from the cupboard and took a slice from the bottom layer and a slice from the top one.

Upon sitting down, he realized he had forgotten a spoon, but before he could get up again Alfred placed one in front of him.

Jason was now arguing with Tim about something, the latter boy rubbing his head and frowning, the former smirking slightly. Damian was frowning and not-watching Bruce eat his cake.

Bruce found that there was a very real smile across his lips. His family truly cared about him, and it showed now even more than usual.

He took the spoon and thanked Alfred and scooped up some cake.

As he went to raise it to his lips, he heard Selina over the comms.

She was shouting. She sounded so, so scared. She said:

“ _Oracle. Oracle! My God they’re eating each other. They’re not human. Call Bruce. Call the Batbrood. Call everyone. They’re getting out and they’re— they’re spreading whatever’s wrong with them! I need backup! I need_ —” Her voice quit. It didn’t fade away. It just stopped.

Bruce slammed down his utensil and everything quieted.

“Dick. Come with me. Alfred, you stay here.”

“What’s happening, Bruce?” Dick. Bruce stood and turned and looked at everyone in the room.

“Catwoman’s in danger.”

Dick nodded.

“Damian, get with the GCPD, tell them they’re going to need to help contain Old Gotham from man-eating creatures.”

Damian hummed, standing up also.

“Jason and Tim, communicate with Oracle. We need to know what’s happening and we need eyes everywhere.”

Bruce has never heard Selina so… scared. She’d never sounded so helpless.

He sprinted to the cave. His children followed. 


	2. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the present, Bruce comes to a realization; in the past, Gotham begins to descend into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode has been updated as of March 2019. Lots has changed in regards to the first half of the chapter, so reading that before proceeding, if you're an old reader, is recommended. If you're a new reader, welcome! I hope you enjoy the story. More to come in the near future!

Bruce seemed to have fallen asleep sometime between those hours of early morning and high afternoon. When he awoke, the heat from outside flowed in through the thin line of windows rounding the upper perimeter of the walls and the wide-open door that led to the outside. Too, the stench of death wafted in, perhaps the worst it had ever been.

Sometime in his sleep he had tugged off the blanket he had laid over them earlier. Too, he seemed to have pushed his cot closer to the wall (something that was strange, though not altogether impossible). He shook these facts off after declaring them, to himself, as useless.

It was unusually hot—these days, the sun was barely able to shine through thick, dark clouds outside. Summer was months overdue, and Bruce had already begun to give up hope that it would ever come. Could this be it?

He shot the thought down almost as soon as it came, instead allowing his sight to drift from the ceiling to the floor around his cot. He sought the bunny he’d collected hours before, but it was nowhere to be found. Where could…?

Bruce’s eyes found a drying puddle of blood by Joker’s cot.

Quickly, he sprung out of bed and reached for a Batarang. Had one of the creatures somehow found its way up here?

Impossible.

Once he’d assured himself nothing was up here with him, Bruce approached the blood (and, subsequently, Joker’s shallowly breathing body). There, he saw that Joker’s mouth was covered in a thin coating of fur and blood. One of his gloved hands held loosely the remains of the creature that had so strangely trusted Bruce.

Subconsciously, Bruce ground his teeth. There was suddenly a tight knot at his throat, and a strange sense of impending doom seemed to almost overpower him. The transformation… was it taking effect? It seemed an impossibility, and it overwhelmed him beyond anything because this was _it_ for him. This had been his _final_ hope to preventing more carnage and death and loss and...

After months of fighting and losing those he loved, would it truly come down to this? These thoughts made his knees weak and allowed a torrent of suppressed memories to flood maddeningly to the surface of his conscious thoughts.

This was it for him—he’d lost Selina, Alfred, his sons… and now the only one he’d sought to protect after the whole catastrophe had broken out. This brought with it an unwelcomed yet familiar sense of uselessness.

He had been unable to protect those he loved, and even now, as he carried on the last object he sought to guard from death itself, his goals had eluded him.

And…

Joker remained still.

Bruce had never seen one of these creatures sleep, nor even remain motionless. Especially not around a live human such as Bruce himself.

What was this?

Casually, ever so carefully, he approached the clown’s form. It seemed to remain just as Bruce had left it, save for the remains of the animal Joker appeared to have devoured while Bruce slept peacefully not two steps away.

And his moved cot? Had that been on purpose too? If the Joker had had that much strength, why hadn’t he killed Bruce?

There were too many questions, but beyond that, a spark of something like an idea rose up from deep within him.

If the Joker was awake, they could make their way to the famed Paradise much quicker. This whole trip had been dragged out by Bruce having to take precautions and travel alone even as he grew more and more tired (and, something he would never admit to himself, more and more _mad_ ). He hadn’t found a way to wake him up, and the Joker had not shown any signs of life until now.

It had been triggered by the animal.

This, Bruce could learn to work with.

He began his morning routine of stretching, taking off his armor, cleaning himself with a wet rag, and feeding and cleaning the clown.

This day, the routine felt more purposeful.

Once done, he set out to hunt.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Bruce began to feel almost a sense of excitement. 

* * *

 

**Five Months Ago**

“Oracle, what’s happening?”

They were in the Batmobile, Bruce and Dick. The boy was looking tense and high-strung and his eyes followed the people outside as though waiting for one of them to pounce.

Neither of them really knew what was happening.

_“It doesn’t look good, B,”_ she finally said. _“Catwoman went in and her suit’s vitals seem to have disappeared. She described them as eating each other. The video footage revealed that she wasn’t lying._

_“It seems that around midnight a single employee of the hardware factory located where 5th dead-ends wandered out of the cafeteria. The first person he crossed paths with he leaped on top of and… ripped out her neck with his teeth. It’s bad, B.”_

Bruce hummed, wordless. Was it fear toxin, maybe?

_“Then the employee, whose name was William McCoy, no priors, never checked into Arkham, never even ran a stop sign, got up and kept on walking. About three minutes later the diseased corpse of Anna Trevor got up and followed the same way McCoy had gone. You can tell where it goes from there. I fast forwarded through the rest of feed, but it just got worse and worse._

_“They got everyone in the factory by 12:30. The two night-guards and all twenty-six employees. Just like Anna Trevor they all died and were resuscitated within ten minutes.”_

By now, Bruce could see the factory looming in the distance.

_“It was a massacre, B. The screaming that Catwoman heard were from those that were dying. She went in and… the cameras went dark after that. I don’t have eyes in there, but CCTV footage indicates that she did go in and managed to shut the gate. Five of the… undead wandered out before then. The streets aren’t too crowded, so maybe…”_

“Maybe there’s still a chance. It seems that these creatures are persecuting those that are not like them. Old Gotham is riddled with homeless and drug addicts. They like to wander outside. I’ll see what I can do to find them. Upload last known locations to the Batcomputer. Nightwing and I will take care of them.”

_“Oracle, out.”_

“You know, saying thanks wouldn’t have hurt anyone, B,” Dick mumbled, but there was no heart in it. The boy seemed worried. “What do you think it is, anyways? It doesn’t sound like fear toxin, at least not any we’ve seen before. Doesn’t seem like Joker’s type of gimmick, either.”

“We’ll have to analyze a sample in order to find out more. For now, let’s just apprehend the five that got loose.”

“And… what about Selina?”

“She can take care of herself.” And that, for now, was that.

* * *

 

Tim rode behind Jason. It was Jason’s bike, so it made sense. 

Jason was wearing his Red Hood helmet as a guard against the wind, Tim with Jason’s spare civilian helmet. The current of air around them tested and gripped at both of them and Tim felt… an odd sort of affection and a mix of anger and disappointment and a hint of worry, despite the timing of (or perhaps because of) this incident.

The affection, he knew, had an obvious source. Tim sat close to Jason. Not touching, of course not. There was no real need (as Tim could balance without holding anything but the seat behind him) and Jason wasn’t one for physical displays of affection.

As for the anxiety…

“I’m gonna sound selfish…” he started, mumbling to Jason over the direct comm Barbara had set up just for this sort of mid-transportation communication.

“I wanted it to be perfect, too, Red.”

“Why tonight, of all nights? The one night he agreed to come along and relax for once.”

Jason hummed, quiet as usual.

“And you know I’m worried about Selina, and we both know Bruce will never forgive himself if she gets hurt doing _his_ job.” The last tidbit was sarcastic. They both knew it was not only Batman’s job to save Gotham, but this was not something Bruce had ever come to admit. “But… why tonight, Jay?”

“I have no idea, Babybird. Let’s get this show on the road though. We’ll get back to that gift you got him soon enough.”

The thought of that was strangely comforting.

Tim refocused on the mission.

“Eyes everywhere, was it?” He asked, knowing Jason already had a plan in mind.

“What better place to watch than the tallest rooftop in Gotham? We’ll connect direct feed from every major factory in Gotham, too.”

“Perfect! The tallest building is Oswald Corp. right by the center of town. It’ll be a great leaping point if we need to grapple to anywhere else in the industrial district.”

Jason did not reply save for an approving hum.

His approval filled Tim with a strange warmth. It was not enough to ward off the fear, but it was enough to reassure him. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.

* * *

 

Damian arrived at the GCPD in record time. The sprint did not leave him breathless, but filled him instead with vigor and excitement. 

The whole situation stank of trouble and bloodshed to come, and try as he may, excitement at that prospect could not be completely suppressed.

 “There’s trouble, Gordon.” He said this calmly, hidden by the shadows in the commissioner’s office and hoping to startle the man as his father often did.

It didn’t seem to work. Gordon did not jump or pause mid-signature as Damian had hoped.

“Where’s Batman?”

“Busy.” Damian felt irked at the lack of attention he was being paid; a deeper frown marred his young face and he stepped out of the shadows. “Something’s happening in Gotham. You are to gather your troops and send them to the streets. There is man-eating creatures roaming about.”

“Huh?” With that, Gordon _did_ stop what he was doing. His tired eyes met Damian’s masked ones, uncomprehending at first, and then sort of resigned.

“Where?”

“Old Gotham south of here. Oracle will upload the information to your servers as it is acquired, all you need to know at the moment is that you need to help contain what appears to be a contagious disease.”

“I… yes. I will do that.”

“Check your servers. I’ll be watching.”

Damian leapt out the window then, grappling up the GCPC building and looking about for the likely suspects.

“Gordon is on his way, Batman,” he spoke over the comms. He hoped also for further instructions. He got them.

“Very good, Robin. Go to Oracle and make sure she’s protected. Red Robin and Red Hood will be sending her important information and I want her safe.”

“Yes.”

He, too, went.

* * *

 

Finding the five fugitives wasn’t as easy as it originally had seemed.

Bruce realized this the second he and Dick exited the Batmobile.

“How do we track them down, Batman?” Nightwing asked him, his face and voice neutral and professional (he was nervous though, Bruce could tell. He had energy to spare and his fists keep balling up without prompting).

“No heat signatures.” He stated this in a voice that seemed to communicate _why is it never as simple as it seems?_ In activating his cowl’s heat vision, Bruce, too saw nothing. “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Find higher ground. Look for anything that moves. It’s late so this shouldn’t be a difficult task. Do not approach if you spot one, just let me know and we can handle it together.”

“Got it.” The boy nodded, then grappled away.

* * *

 

 It took Bruce and Dick about five minutes, all in all, to find the five runners. All but one wore a factory suit, while the outlier wore the guard’s uniform.

They only found them so fast because they appeared to be traveling as a pack. Upon settling down to watch them, Bruce made several assumptions based off their patterns.

First and foremost, the undead creatures seemed incapable of speech. Secondly, they wandered slowly, dragging their feet as though having nowhere to be and no goal in mind. Thirdly, he saw that their pupils were blown and that the little visible irises were a cloudy shade of yellow (this he knew because while they all faced away from him, one’s neck has been snapped to the degree that it stared behind itself while still walking forward).

Most were covered in blood— their hands a splattered mess and their outfits now more maroon than blue. Their mouths gaped open and they moaned and moaned and moaned as though severely injured (which most of them were, Bruce noted. Oracle had been right about them dying and coming back to life. Some were missing whole limbs while others dragged their intestines behind them, seemingly without noticing the graveness of their wounds).

Bruce looked at Dick. The boy’s eyebrows were scrunched up under his domino and his mouth was a thin line.

“Stay here,” he said, knowing the anger that would provoke but knowing it was for the best.

“Hey you—” he did not hear the rest but instead landed a short distance behind the pack. Immediately, the moaning became more feral and their steps a bit sturdier. They turned as one and came at him.

At first, it seemed like a joke. Three of the five moved slug-like in their slowness. Bruce noted that this is due to the state of their legs (half-detached or severely damaged in some way or another). The other two, whose legs were fully functional, moved only slightly faster than the rest.

They would be easy to contain, he decides.

Nightwing grappled down on the other side of the horde just then, his stance ready, his bo held in his hands.

Two of the five turn toward him.

“Shock them. They’re already dead, according to Oracle. Regardless, anything with muscles will be incapacitated by a high voltage. I’ll tie them up,” Bruce said over the comm, not at all surprised that the stubborn boy had not followed his order to stay away.

“Roger.”

With that, Bruce saw Dick turn the voltage on his bo to its highest setting.

 Then, they moved.

A quick jab to the temple from Nightwing barely caused pause in a female creature. The boy adjusted his technique and struck the woman several times in the legs, arms, and face. The creature’s muscles seized, and it stumbled.

Bruce ran around the three that had almost gotten to him (a Batarang to the temple to each, it sticking but not penetrating. They did not slow down, but instead followed his movements in their sluggish pace).

He took the downed one by the hair and pushed her (it?) to the ground, securing zip ties to her wrist and pushing her legs together in two quick movements.

Bruce turned and saw two others on the ground, Dick making quick work of his fourth.

Dealing with the other two the same way, he turned to the fourth, then, having downed it, the fifth.

A quick, simple fight.

No wounds for either.

“Good work,” he called to Dick, who looked much more at ease now knowing they had the strength to overpower these murderous creatures.

Although all of them are on the ground, they writhed and moan and kept on struggling. They could not do much with their limbs tied, but they still struggled to crawl on their bellies so as to get to Dick or Bruce.

“What is your name?” He called down to one, stomping his foot on its chest. He knew he would, most likely, receive no answer, but still he tried.

It did not speak, but instead growled and groaned and snapped bloody teeth at Bruce.

“No use,” Dick said.

Bruce nodded.

“Help me tie them all up, Nightwing. Get them off the streets, minimize danger.”

They did that, the whole time Dick going on about how easy that had been, the boy letting out a few breezy laughs and letting relief shine through.

Once the creatures were up, Dick paused his quips to ask a question.

“Can we make them better?”

“I don’t know.”

It was he truth, but it was not the answer Dick wanted, Bruce knew.

“What now?”

“The factory. Catwoman is our next priority.” The boy smiled at this news.

Then, he grappled up the nearest building while calling behind him—

“Last one there’s a rotten egg, B!”

Bruce grappled after him, not quite so readily giving into the tugging sense of victory. There was something in him telling his that this was not the time to feel relieved. Strangely enough, he felt the strange of foreboding one might get before a particularly terrible storm.

* * *

They found her on the roof, a ways behind the guardrail. She’s standing still— regal as ever. There was something wrong, though; something just didn’t seem quite right.

She _seemed_ intact: not a hair out of place and her goggles firmly over her eyes. But… there was a tear on her suit and—

 "Catwoman!” Dick exclaimed; he began to jog over to her, so he could hug out the heavy relief that his voice expressed, presumably.

Bruce stopped him, his arm over Dick’s chest, sturdy and solid. He kept him back.

“It’s contagious.” That’s all he said. And he said it because… because the tear wasn’t only along the suit, it went deeper still. There was a scratch on Selina’s arm.

Bruce didn’t know what’s happening, not really, but he wouldn’t put Dick in any danger.

“Stay back, Nightwing,” he murmured, the boy’s confused expression giving way to a darker, fiercer face. Then, louder, “Catwoman, report.”

There was no answer. No catcall or sweet one-liner or sway of the hips. There was nothing that gave her away as herself and suddenly Bruce was scared— not the sort of scared that shined through and froze men in place, but instead the sort that boiled the blood, the sort that came right before grief struck.

“Catwoman.”

No words, but instead something much, much worse.

A groan.

Just like the other creatures outside, the ones currently tied up in a neat heap for the GCPD to contain.

No suit vitals, Oracle had said before. Bruce lifted a finger and activated his cowl’s heat vision. No heat signature, either.

“Selina,” he called— an unprofessional last-ditch effort. He could not… he could not lose her. Not _her_ , especially not when she had only gone out tonight to pick up _his_ slack. If she was infected it would be because Bruce wanted a day off, because he wanted to eat cake and _rest_. He would never forgive himself if that was the case.

Selina, his beautiful, perfect Selina, stopped standing still. One second she was standing there, the next she was coming towards them.

She did not drag her feet like the others did— no, she sprinted at full speed, her eyes wide open beneath those orange goggles and most probably the same color as the monsters outside. Her mouth was wide, and she was salivating just like the others had been.

Bruce moved to detain her just as he did the rest, but before he could, Oracle spoke in his ear.

The sentence hit him at the same time Selina slammed into him as full force.

She said,

_“Bruce, Bruce. The reds called. Your location isn’t the only cite affected. They’re saying ACE and Oswald Corp. and every other large factory in Gotham has undead streaming out of them.”_

Bruce fell to the ground, Selina atop him.

_“We don’t know what to do, Bruce. I don’t think this is contained. There’s something very, very wrong with Gotham.”_

 


	3. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the present, Bruce attempts something; in the past, everything comes to a head for the Batfamily, and we catch up with Joker and Harleen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of Match 15, 2019, this chapter has been UPDATED. If you're an old reader, going back through the story is recommended, as there have been some pretty dramatic changes. If you're a new reader, welcome! Much more to come in the near future.

Collecting enough small animals to experiment with was no small feat.

Bruce, ever the overachiever, succeeded splendidly.

Standing by Joker’s bedside, on his knees as though praying, he whispered:

“ _ Pull through. I know you can do it. They’re coming for us… they can’t be too far behind _ .”

It was as much for himself as it was for the clown.

He watched and waited.

Nothing happened.

* * *

 

**Five Months Ago**

“Absurd,” Joker murmured, his eyes tracking the paper set before him in an all-too-serious way.

Harleen watched him from a bench in the corner of the room (Joker’s designated time-out corner for her). Her cheek throbbed as a reminder to stay far away enough to be out of punching distance, especially now that her Pumpkin’ was moody and irritable.

“What’s wrong, Puddin’?” She asked, hoping that talking it out now would mean sex later rather than a beating. This trick hadn’t worked in the past, but sue her, she was an optimist. Only B-man had ever gotten him out of these moods, now that she was thinking about it… maybe he’d burst in here and Joker and her would beat ‘im to a bloody pulp and then live happily ever after.

Her Puddin’ interrupted her daydreaming with a sour tone and a bitter grunt.  _ It’s been a while since he’s been this grumpy _ , she thought to herself, half listening and half quelling the angry growls her stomach was sending in her direction.

“These plans, my dear Harley, they’re going to take a while to become reality…” his voice faded, not a trace of laughter now that was a hitch in his plans. Joker had gone on for days about how tomorrow night was the night he was going to make all of Gotham laugh and how he was,  _ finally _ , going to capture Batman.

It was Bruce Wayne’s birthday, or something. He had said something about a gala tomorrow night and a need to prepare for the party tomorrow or something or the other. While Joker had been explaining all this to her, Harleen had gotten lost in those dreamy eyes and that wide, merry smile of his. He was just  _ so _ handsome she couldn't help herself, even if he did punch her occasionally.

It had been of no consequence whether she listened or not, anyways. Joker had put her in timeout ever since yesterday, so she was stuck. He had told her there was no need for her, so she had figured he wouldn’t mind if she didn’t exactly follow the plan.

“Puddin’, we haven’t eaten in a few days. There’s Chinese around the corner and—”

“Go if you want, Harley, damnit. Just shut up!” A giggle from him, quivering shoulders as he twisted his neck and body to glare at her.

Harleen went to stand, a bit afraid but hungrier than that. She didn’t reply but obviously that was a mistake because one second her Jay was still and the next there was a knife being lobbed at her and his eyes were shining with a handsome sort of murderous intent.

This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled this, so Harley knew to dodge around it and make a pretty pirouette that highlighted her ass and got her safely away (the ass part was for show; she knew Joker liked it because one time she heard him mumbling about an ass in his dreams, obviously it was hers, so she used this insider information to seduce her Puddin’).

The knife dug itself deep into the wall and Harleen giggled uncomfortably, safe yet weary yet in love. She mourned the fact that she had to put up with moments like these to get all the other glorious moments she and her Puddin’ shared.

“Get yourself some fortune cookies, dear, you seem to be sorely in need of luck.”

Jay laughed at his own joke, then turned around.

Harley laughed a real laugh now, relieved she was able to give him some of his mirth back.

She went out the back door and shut it quietly behind her, happy to be out of that stifling room and away from Joker (even if that latter fact made her thrum with guilt for not being happy with all that he was giving her).

* * *

 

She didn’t last more than half a block before realizing that something was terribly wrong. Though yes, it was something like the middle of the night, the streets behind her were filled with streams of people. They were not speaking, but rather dragging their feet and making strange noises and… was that one dragging its guts behind itself?

Out of instinct, she catapulted herself to a fire escape ladder, her body used to the motion but her mind sluggish and weak from hunger.

She landed with ease, making her way up stairs and past apartments as her heart thundered loudly in her chest.

What in the hell was happening out here?

From atop the roof of a building four or five floors tall, she got a slightly better view of the world outside the alleyway the hideout was in.

Nothing but people walking about, most seemed seriously injured and nearly all of them ambled purposefully. A few stood still, though their eyes… were they tracking her, somehow?

Hurriedly, she pulled out her phone, hoping for some help from her Puddin’, the whole incident from before (and compiled fear of days of abuse and standing in a corner) now forgotten in the face of whatever terrifying nightmare lay beyond.

Still, she hesitated before calling, allowing her inner Harleen to choose the news app before calling her prince charming.

A livestream popped up the second the app launched. Immediately, a hurried, urgent voice spoke from tiny speakers. It said—

“—They seem to be increasing in numbers. Stay indoors, Gothamites. We don’t know how to stop them but sources say that the GCPD has been deployed. There’s been no sightings of Batman yet, but two of his Robins were seen near downtown. An anonymous phone call from a reliable source has stated that whatever they have is contagious. If they bite you, you’re dead. I repeat, if they bite you you  _ will _ die. Stay indoors, Gothamites—”

Harley, now even more afraid than before (though a more rational fear now. It seemed to have crystalized in her bloodstream. Feeling less mad and more clearheaded, now. She let Harleen take over a little more. It was the only way to survive, now) dialed the Joker’s phone.

It rang a grand total of nine times before the phone let her know Joker’s burner did not have a voicemail inbox that had been set up.

She called gain. No response.

She glanced up, away from the failed call, and now realized that the creatures had found their way into the alleyway. They now blocked her way to Joker.

They were louder now that they were closer. The ones from before, the ones that stood, watched her from far below, the creatures walking around them without bumping into them.

“Look away ya creeps, you never seen a lady before?” She shouted this down without thinking. At the sound of it, the creatures, even the stupid ones, seemed to focus directly on her.

“Well, shit,” she mumbled to herself, looking away, hoping that these things did not know how to climb ladders or go up fire escapes.

She called again.

This time, he picked up. He sounded terribly annoyed, and Harley almost hung up, but she was scared and her Puddin’ would know what to do. “Harl _ ey _ .” He stretched it out like it’s a curse.

“Mistah Jay, there’s somethin’ happenin’ out here—”

“I told you not to bother me, Harley. Come back here if you need something but if you annoy me I’ll have to punish you.” He hung up.

Harley… Harley teared up, not wanting to cry but hurting deep down inside.

“I guess I gotta come save ya now, Puddin’. Stay alive. I’ll come for you soon.”

Allowing herself to think independently, she let herself admit that the best plan, for now, was to lay low. She decided in that moment to go to sleep for the night, hoping that by the morning, these creatures would have moved on. With safe passage, she could get to Joker and they could figure this out together.

“I’ll come for you soon.” She repeated this once again, tasting the words and feeling pathetic and weak as she  curled up on the ground and fell into thin, uneasy sleep.

* * *

 

“Holy fucking shit.”

That was Jason.

Tim had settled for quiet dread. Not that their reactions really mattered, seeing how they were miles off the ground and too far away for anyone to hear (if anyone down there even was alive, anyways).

“Shit, babybird, what the actual—”

“ _ Language, red. _ ” That was Barbara over comms, which they’d left switched on since their assent.

“I do what I want, Oracle.” Jason was fuming now, but surely more out of unspoken fear than actual irritation.

“There’s so many down there, Oracle. Hundreds.” Tim said this in his usual steady voice, but it was hard. They’d all seen a lot working with Bruce, but this was pretty damn bad, even weighed against all the other damn bad things that had happened to them all.

“ _ Can you pinpoint a source of origin? _ ”

“They’re coming out of every major building in Gotham,” Jason told her— a true statement. From up here, they could see the way they were coming out of residential buildings and department offices and everything other major structure in their city. They’d tried to track them all with heat vision, but the creatures didn’t seem to be emanating anything resembling warmth.

Even the Lazarus Pit didn’t have effects like that— they’d seen people come back to life (exhibit A being the handsome, reckless Jason Todd), but walking corpses? Ludicrous and, admittedly, terrifying.

“ _ Got it, _ ” Barbara hummed, intrigued. “ _ Have you found a way to detain them? _ ”

“Working on it, Oracle,” Tim told her, then crouched down, ready to leap toward the increasingly large swarms of creatures walking about. “We’ve got to contain them, Red. Ready to go down there?”

Jason nodded, surely smirking under his helmet.

“With you around? Ready for anything, Red.”

They grappled down.

Upon landing, Jason pulled out his guns and aimed for the kneecaps.

The bullets landed squarely, as they always did, but had no effect safe to bring the creature down (though, terrifyingly enough, it kept on approaching, dragging bloody stumps behind itself). The gun’s loud report, in fact, only made matters worse.

The sound seemed to attract the attention of the dozens of creatures that had previously been dragging their feet aimlessly away from them.

Still, Jason shot the creature once again. This time, the bullet buried itself into a chest. This, too, did nothing save push the creature back some.

Tim, too, tried his hand at it—he tossed Batarangs squarely at one’s shoulders. The attack was seemingly ineffective, the creature drawing closer and closer still.

The one downed by Jason kept on creeping forward, and the disgust this provoked in Tim’s gut was almost tangible.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, one pushed through the dozens that had begun ambling towards Tim and Jason. Its speed was extraordinary, and its gaping jaw matched a gaping wound on its side.

“What the—” Tim had time to say, angling himself away from the leaping creature and closer towards another.

Jason, who had been facing the other way, did not have time to dodge as Tim had. He stumbled as the body of the creature crashed onto him  _ hard _ .

In a second, Jason had his gun aimed at the creature. He shot it dead between the eyes, blood, gore, and brain matter spattering onto him and flying in an arc above the now-headless creature.

Now, they were both surrounded. Wordlessly, they nodded at each other and grappled away, landing on higher ground and watching as, within seconds, the place where they had been standing was swarmed by dozens, perhaps even hundreds, on ambling bodies and a couple runners.

Out of breath, Tim looked towards Jason and asked, “Are you okay?” In a voice that just barely contained its fear.

“Not a scratch on me, Babybird. Nothing worse than a mouthful of brains, and we both know that’s not the worst thing to pass between my lips.”

Tim managed a smile at this and allowed himself to go back into vigilante mode.

“Oracle,” Jason spoke over the comm, his voice grounding and comforting among the increasingly loud moans and groans rising up from the ground.

“ _ Here. _ ” She spoke after a split second.

“We got one down. They are unaffected by normal weapons or hits, even if critical, anywhere below the head. When I shot one down it came right back up. It wasn’t until I shot one in the head that we were able to stop it. I need you to update the Bat for me.”

“ _ On it. I’ll page you through. _ ”

Immediately, they heard Dick over their comms.

“ _ What do I do?! _ ” He sounded so, so terrified. Dick had never, ever sounded like that for as long as Tim has known him.

It is Jason who replied, he said—

“Shoot them in the head. It’s the only way they seem to be going down for good.”

Tim did not know if either Bruce or Dick could ever do that, but he hoped they gather up the strength, even if just this once. Dick sounded real bad.

There was absolute silence over the comms, but both Red Robin and Red Hood waited for further exclamations or pleads.

Tim didn’t realize it until a gauntlet hold his own that he was shaking quite badly. Jason, headgear in place, looked in Tim’s direction, perhaps hoping to reassure.

* * *

 

Bruce didn’t want to hurt her.

Dick saw this from a mile away. He saw it the second Selina slammed him down and began to pound her fists against Bruce’s cowl.

But that was not Selina right then. It was a creature who looked like her, but that was not the woman that used to sneak into the manor to give him milk and talk to him whenever Bruce was patrolling too many nights in a row; it was not the woman who had, on many occasions in the past, fixed Dick’s tie for him; it was not the one that loved Bruce and their family with all her heart (even if she’d never admit it).

_ It’s not her _ , he told himself and he launched into action and pushed her off Bruce through sheer momentum.  _ It’s not her _ , he repeated as he landed atop her and trapped her fists with a hand and punches her with the other.  _ It’s not her _ when he split her cheek open and she continued to struggle as though she did not feel it.  _ It’s not her _ as she attempted to take a bite out of his balled-up fist.  _ It’s not her _ as Bruce came up and kicked her temple hard enough to kill a grown man.

_ It’s not her _ as she shook it off and began to buck her hips with unnatural strength in order to get to Dick.

“What do I do?!” Dick called out, noticing now that there were tears streaming down his face.

“I—”

“ _ Shoot them in the head, _ ” Jason’s voice comes in over the comms. “ _ It’s the only way they seem to be going down for good. _ ”

“I can’t do that,” Dick murmurs. Then, louder, scared— “I can’t do that!”

One of Selina’s hands got loose, and she slashed up at his face. The blow landed squarely, and her claws gashed his face open—no, not her armored claws. Sometime during her struggle, these had come off. It was her nails that had scratched him.

“Nightwing!” Bruce.

There was a body atop him now and he would die soon, wouldn’t he? What if that scratch was enough to kill him? Hell, maybe the virus was airborne and he already  _ was  _ dead.

Then suddenly there was nothing atop him and no more echoing groans on their little roof.

“I…” is all Bruce got out before Dick sprung up and hugged Bruce’s stiff body. Dick was no longer crying— he’d never cry for himself, not really. But Selina…

God. Selina.

Dick let go of Bruce and turned around.

Catwoman’s body was on the ground. She looked graceful even now. She’d be happy to know that, Dick was sure.

Her body was crumpled like that of a dead bird, her only flaws her bloodied, unclawed hand and the scratch in her suit and… the claw of the grapple gun that had firmly gone in and out of her skull.

If she wasn’t dead before, she certainly was now.

“Thank—”

“Let’s go. We’ll take her and run test in the Batcave. We’ll check in on Alfred as well.”

Bruce stepped forward, maybe to pick her up or maybe to remove the grappling gun that had gone through her brain, but it was Dick that kept him away from her now.

“I got it. You go on ahead and get the Batmobile and I’ll carry her in.”

“Nightwing, she’s  _ my  _ responsibility.” He was angry now. Dick was, too. They were not mad at each other, though, they were mad at whoever was responsible for all this.

“I loved her, too, Bruce.”

That’s all it took to convince him.

Bruce nodded tightly and sprinted off.

Dick…

Dick walked up to Catwoman and, with a Batarang, took the time to saw off the cable connecting the claw embedded in Selina to the gun.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her. “I was hoping you… I hoped you’d be our mom, someday… we all really did love you. Even if you feared being part of a family, you were  _ our  _ family.”

He then scooped her up, mindful of her head even though it no longer really mattered.

He carried her off to the Batmobile, heedless of his own wound and deaf to the moans and groans and grunts of all the other workers wandering around the main courtyard.

Gotham could wait.

* * *

 

Bruce’s voice eventually filtered through all their comms.

He said:

“ _ Nightwing is safe. We found Catwoman. She’s… dead. We’ll all meet up back at the cave. Damian, stay with Oracle. We’ll be there soon. _ ”

At the heart of Gotham, Jason let go of Tim’s arm brusquely. He fired off ten shots at the creatures below before Tim moved to stop him.

“Let’s go, Red,” Tim said, and, for once in his life, Jason listened.

Elsewhere, Damian let out a short little breath that betrayed no emotions. Next to him, Oracle began to sob. If Damian knew how to, he would comfort her. He did not know how to, and so he stood off next to her with dry eyes and fists tightly clenched.

Dick… Dick cradled Selina close and knew, somehow, that things weren’t getting any better anytime soon.

 


	4. Unfortunate Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be back soon and better than ever!


End file.
